Motnahprepus
by sapphireswimming
Summary: Companion piece to The Cinderninja's "Superphantom". Honestly, their day had been doomed from the beginning.


**Okay. So this is a companion fic to "Superphantom" by Dash (The Cindernnja) who wrote the crossover of perfection last night. I literally had tears streaming down my face because she doesn't even know how funny it was. She doesn't. even. know.**

**So then we maniacally laughed through my pounding out this fic in like an hour and a half omg this is the fastest I've ever written anything. And it's our first collab (even though it's the third we've started) and it's superphantom and she hasn't even seen Supernatural and this is all too much I'm gonna die bahaha. Merry Christmas everyone. XD**

**This is basically the flip side of her fic. From the Winchester's point of view. You need to read hers to get the full experience.**

* * *

><p><strong>Motnahprepus<strong>

December 24, 2014

* * *

><p>It had actually been a decent trip for the Winchesters.<p>

The hotel they'd stayed in hadn't been one of their usual crappy stops. The sheets were clean and the heater didn't run out of hot water before they'd gotten through their army showers. They'd both gotten decent nights' sleep and had a complimentary continental breakfast waiting for them in the lobby.

The two queen beds, letting them sprawl out on top of the mattress without worrying about Sammy's feet falling off of the bed, hadn't even been a strain on their fake credit cards. Apparently, not many people tended to stay in Amity Park, so they offered some kind of deal nearly every other week in hopes of boosting business.

So they were rested and ready to go and didn't even have to worry about a case. The billboards on their drive into town proclaimed that this was a nice place to live. And there had been no suspicious deaths.

They were just here on an errand from Bobby. Needed to catch up with a couple paranormal scientists in town who might have an invention or two worth adding to the standard hunter's arsenal.

Of course, as they slid into the Impala's sun warmed leather seats and purred out of the parking lot to go find the Fentons, they should have known that a day that started out this well was too good to last.

The town turned out to be a labyrinth with roads blocked off for construction all over downtown without any detour signs. City council didn't expect any visitors coming in needing to navigate road work, apparently.

Even Dean was turned around, driving into dead end after dead end before arriving in the middle of an abandoned warehouse district on the water front. They exchanged looks and hit the road again, trying to find where the Lab in question might be when all of the addresses seemed to lead them to quiet residential subdivisions.

Finally they found the street that Sam had scrawled on a piece of note paper and pulled up in front of the address Bobby had given them.

It was a bizarre building that looked like every other house on the block at ground level but mutated as it went upward until they couldn't imagine what they were looking at or why it had been allowed to be built anywhere in the vicinity of normal houses.

Sam looked to Dean in confusion, but his brother merely shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno, man. Just gotta check it out, I guess."

After a quick visit to the trunk where they picked out appropriate IDs and slipped various guns and knives into any remaining empty pockets, they walked up the front steps and knocked on the door, ready for anything.

Anything but a teenage boy in a red beret—a red beret?—opening the door and screeching once he saw them, and chucking his pizza straight into Dean's neck before turning around and slamming the door behind them.

There were some bumps and muffled shouting behind the door and the Winchesters blinked at what may have been their most unorthodox welcome to anywhere ever.

They might have stayed frozen in surprise and confusion if the pizza thrown at Dean hadn't chosen that minute to start sliding down his collar.

He jumped at the sensation, then quickly reached up to grab the slice of pizza—pepperoni—from going any further. After considering it for a moment, he nodded to himself and took a bite.

"Dude," Sam said.

"What?" Dean replied with his mouth full. "Perfectly good pepperoni."

The door cracked opened again and this time a black haired girl peered out cautiously, then swung it open further when it didn't look like they were doing anything that should send the guy who had first opened the door screaming off into the night.

After catching sight of Dean's snack, she raised an eyebrow. "Didn't… my friend just _throw _that at you?" she asked slowly.

Dean blinked at her, chewing slowly. After a minute, he swallowed and replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've had this the whole time."

Sam looked at his brother like he would be ashamed if they weren't dressed in their FBI suits and trying to make official contact with important people. The girl kept looking between the red stains on Dean's shirt and the disappearing slice of pizza in his hand, becoming thoroughly more grossed out as the seconds passed.

Coughing loudly to break the awkward silence, Sam asked, "Is this…" he paused, looking for something to say now that he'd gotten the girl's attention. "Fentonworks?"

She stared at him, then pointed upwards, where the brothers saw a huge, glowing, neon sign that said FENTONWORKS on it hanging right above the doorway.

"Huh," Dean said as he stuffed another mouthful of pizza into his face, "how did we miss that?"

The violet eyed girl just stared unimpressed.

Sam tried to begin again. "Well, since this is FentonWorks, we're here to talk to Dr. Jack and Madeline Fenton? The inventors? Uh, Bobby Singer sent us."

The girl's expression didn't change. And a boy in a red and white t shirt sidled up behind her in the doorway to make the exchange even more awkward.

"We're…" he looked to his brother for help, but Dean shrugged and continued eating his pizza. "Well, we are paranormal investigators. And we'd been lead to believe that the Fentons have some really unique items that could help people like us, so we were hoping…"

"Really?" the boy in the background piped up. "You seem way too normal to be paranormal investigators."

Now this they knew how to deal with. The brothers reached into their pockets in synch, Sam whipping out a leather bifold in one quick motion as Dean used his un-pizza-fied hand to reach into an inside pocket to grab a matching one.

They held up their ID to the kids who blinked at them.

Instead of the response they expected, however—the awe and deference to their now completely official authority—the girl said, "Wait. Paranormal Investigators get ID's? Who were these_ issued_ by?"

Critical questioning by a teenage girl was not what they were looking to deal with right now but before they could tuck their IDs away to avoid further scrutiny—and Sam suddenly wondered which cards Dean had chosen for them to use today—the boy said "they do?" and had grabbed the one out of Dean's hand.

Dean tried to reach for it, but with a mouthful of half chewed pizza crust, he didn't make a very official looking or dignified sight.

"Why don't we have any?" the kid whined as he peered closer to the card, only to stop and reread something on the paper. "Um," he started, before pausing again. "This says your name is James T. Kirk."

Dean opened a nearly empty mouth to respond with a quip about how his parents were big fans of the show, but before he could say anything that dug them deeper into this hole, the girl replied to her friend, "I don't think that they do. I mean, unless they were a government agency like the GIW, why _would_ they?"

Sam and Dean thought of how most hunters they knew worked freelance and tried to avoid connections to any official governmental bodies if they could help it, just because of the risk and the extra paperwork to keep documentation looking official, and made a mental note to keep that in mind the next time they started knocking on strangers' doors.

Also, they should look up what the GIW was.

She thought for a moment before asking to see the one he'd taken from Dean. "Because that would be like having an ID _identifying_ me as a Goth" And, from her wardrobe, Sam and Dean decided that she needed no extra help in that department. "Like… what?" she asked, peering up at them. "Where did you get these? Are you like hobbyists?"

Dean bristled. They didn't do what they did just for kicks.

"Are you affiliated with an organization or agency?"

Sam didn't know how they should respond to this. They didn't normally get interrogated even by the most mistrustful or paranoid of adults they came across in their job.

The boy bent down to look at the card still hanging from Sam's outstretched hand. "This says Spock," he said, pulling it toward him. "It actually says Spock."

Sam snatched it back and grabbed Dean's again, even though the damage had already been done. Kirk and Spock? Really, what had Dean been thinking? Even if no one else ever really looked at anything on their IDs, why did they even have Star Trek ones?

The kid was looking at them oddly now. "Um, yeah. I'm not letting you into my house," he said, and there wasn't much they'd be able to do about that while still maintaining a cover and friendly relations with the family. Besides, the last thing they needed right now was for local law enforcement to come pick them up for unlawful breaking and entering and whatever else this girl would cook up.

"Come back and try again tomorrow when my parents are home."

Dean looked like he was about to pull out the snake oil and try another argument when the boy continued, "They'll probably fall for this."

Then he and the girl disappeared and the door closed, locking securely behind them with a loud click just seconds later.

Sam and Dean stared at the door for a few seconds before turning to each other.

"That was…" Dean trailed off with grease covered hand motioning vaguely in front of him.

Sam huffed and finished the thought, "Weird. Yeah, definitely weird." He craned his neck backwards to look back up at the building and try to make sense of some of the vague shouts he heard reverberating from inside.

"Yeah, okay," the older Winchester walked down the steps. "You stay here and keep an eye— or _two_— on Paranoid and her boyfriend over there. And the crazy cousin up in the attic."

Sam nodded. "What are you doing then?"

"I'm going to call Bobby, get a lowdown on exactly what he knows about the Fentons and what he thought he was sending us into. _And_ try to scout out a place with food that's actually accessible by car," he groused, trying to keep himself from wiping his hand on his suit.

He looked down both sides of the street, but everything seemed calm. "You give me a call if anything happens, you got it?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed. These kids weren't going to come out of the house. Wanted nothing to do with them. It wasn't like anything was going to happen in the middle of the street in broad daylight with nothing supernatural going on in the town.

Dean looked pointedly at him until he said, "Sure, yes, fine, Dean. You go call Bobby. I'll be fine."

His brother climbed behind the seat of the impala, grimaced when he remembered that one hand was full of pizza grease, and then proceeded to maneuver out of the driveway with his clean hand and a knee.

Sam sighed and went back to sit on the front steps.

He picked lazily at his shoe for a bit.

Memorized the make and model of every car parked in a driveway in the neighborhood.

Guessed how many light bulbs it would take to power the FentonWorks sign. And how many hunters it would take to change them out. He decided that it would only take one so long as Bobby was there. Even if Martin was around too.

He looked up when a beat up blue car came putting down the street. Rusting around the rims and with a couple high brow joke bumper stickers. Driven by a redhead girl.

Who pulled into the FentonWorks driveway.

Sam stood up when she parked and ran a hand through his hair to put it back into place as she walked up.

"Uh, hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied slowly, sizing him up.

He stared at her awkwardly, realizing she was probably wondering why he was sitting right outside her front door. But the teenagers inside would explain everything as soon as she walked in and it would discredit anything he said now.

He couldn't introduce himself as Sam, not when his ID, which he still had to try to maintain was official, said Spock. And no way would he try to pass that off as a real name. Even a nickname.

Geez, he really needed to have a talk with Dean about their themed IDs.

She kept staring at him as she edged closer to the door and he smiled back, occasionally opening his mouth to say something but discarding every idea as soon as it came to him because he realized that everything he could say would only manage to make matters worse.

Staring creepily at the attractive young woman wasn't a solid plan either, though, but before he could come up with any alternatives, she'd edged her way into the house and locked it back behind her again.

He put his head in his hands and groaned.

"I blame you, Dean."


End file.
